


Last Meal.

by Talyn_Rahl



Category: Talyn_Rahl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 07:43:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11847063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talyn_Rahl/pseuds/Talyn_Rahl
Summary: Guess what?  Yup, Homework.This time we had to write a story about the last of something, so I wrote this rather sad tale of a faded, broke aristocrat, spending the last of his wealth on a very fancy meal.





	Last Meal.

I'm selling Father's medals today... I always said they would be the last things to go, that I would hold onto them until the very end. Now it seems it's time for them to go.

I'm so glad I chose to wear my driving gloves as I enter the pawn shop. I know I'd sold the last car years ago, but I couldn't quite bring myself to sell the gloves. Now that sentamentality had paid off, as I look around the store and can almost SEE how sticky and disgusting everything in here is. I am including the man behind the counter in this observation.

"Yeah, what?" he mumbles at me, barely looking up from his phone, which is streaming something I'm 90% sure is softcore pornography. 

"I am here today to sell these medals, I was wondering how much you'd give me for them?"

"Fiddy." He doesn't even look up from his phone

"Sir, do you see this medal here?" I point to the Anointed Cross, which holds pride of place in the middle of the display. "This medal has only been awarded 6 times in the whole of our countries illustrious military history. It is a truly rare and exceptional piece."

"Oh, well okay then." He pauses a second, then spits something green into a tissue, which he returns to his pocket, like some kind of savage "In that case, Sixty."

In my heart, I knew that selling them for ten times that price would still be selling them cheap, but at the end of the day, what does it even matter?

"Fine, that is a... Fair price." I gather my meager pay and leave the store, I have other tasks to complete today.

Next I head to the butchers, I have a steak on special order and while small, the money I received from sellings the medals will be enough to cover it.

The bell over the door sounds and immediatly I'm ten years old again. Coming into this very store on a sunday morning with mother, to pick up the joint for the weekly roast. I remember the smiling faces, the respect everyone showed her. I remember thinking I couldn't wait till I was her age, and people would respect me... I guess life really does love it's little slights.

"Excuse me, sir? Can you get out of the door, you're blocking the way"

I'm snap back to reality, annoyed at myself for becoming so hopelessly immersed in bygone days, making a fool of myself in front of all these people. I see the children, standing with their parents... but they're laughing at me, the crazy old man from up on the hill. No respect from them, but at least they're honest. The parents think the same thing, they just hide it behind a polite facade. I walk up to the counter, suddenly wanting to conclude my business as quickly as possible and return home.

"Good day Shopkeep, I believe you have a special order in for me today. The Kobe."

It takes him a second, but then the pieces fit into place and he hands me my order

"That's a fine peice of meat, one of the best I think we've seen in this store... Sure you know how to cook it?"

I feel a flush creep over my face, our family used to employ one of the finest chefs in the country to cook our nightly meals, I've eaten some of the best food this world has ever seen, even helped prepare some of it, and this man thinks I can't handle a simple steak?

"Don't worry, meat this good requires very little, in order to make it shine. That's one of the reasons I ordered it."

He looks at me, the disbelieve clear in his eyes. "Sure, just don't over cook it, okay?"

I hand over the money and leave the store, without reply. The embarrasment turning slowly into anger.

By the time I'm back home, I've calmed down again. At this stage, there's very little point in holding onto anger. I head to the kitchen and start gathering everything I need, I take a moment to examine the steak. He may have been a disrespectful lout, but he wasn't lying, this really was an exceptional peice of meat. I hear that the cows that produce it are massaged daily by virgin Shrine Maidens, and they're fed on only the grain left over from producing the regions beer... Not a bad life, maybe I'll get lucky next time and be born as one of them.

I've only got a couple of candles lit on the candelabra, partially because that's all I could find, and partially because it doesn't do me any good seeing all that isn't there anymore in my dining room. Sure, if I wanted too, I could switch on the overhead lights, there's a decent chance they're still working... but why bother? So I can stare at the faded outlines where fine paintings once hung? Or maybe the bare mantlepeice, where I'd once delighted in storing interesting curios and exquiste Objet D'art... No, the gloom is far more fitting for my current mood.

The steak is perfect, of course, and I take the time to savour each and every bite, but all too soon, it's gone and I'm left there, sitting in the cold with only a glass of wine for company. Thankfully, it is VERY good wine; a true vintage, one of the best this world has ever produced. I hold the glass in my hands and sniff it, I get hints of fruit, summer berries and rich deep earth notes, a hint of Tobacco, which you'd think would be offputting, but isn't. I splash it up the side of the glass and just take a moment to watch it make it's slow, luxurious way down again. The colour is so deep, you can barely see the powder disolving in the bottom of the glass, but I give it a little mix anyway, just to be safe. I take just the tiniest sip and marvel at the heady bouquet, the stunning flavours... This is a wine that you're meant to spend an evening drinking, in padded chairs by a roaring fire, while discussing fine art. This is not a wine you simply drink, this is a wine you EXPERIENCE.

I down the whole lot in one, indecent gulp and throw the glass as hard as I can into the darkness. I hear the sharp crash, followed by a tinkle as the glass finds the wall opposite, and a last, vindictive smile spreads over my lips. Those glasses had always been my sister's favourites.

All too suddenly, I feel tiredness wash over me. The wine must have been stronger than I though... I don't have the strength to get up and get to bed, so I simply lay my head on my crossed arms, resting on the table, my eyes closing with a contented sigh.

And as I lay there, the last candle on a once fine candelarba, gutters, flickers, and goes out.


End file.
